


Movie Thursdays

by MDJensen



Series: Me and Captain America [5]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Firefly/Serenity spoilers, Gen, Jerry and Steve have movie nights, Jerry worships the ground Steve walks on honestly, Some Fluff, Some angst, Steve is lowkey a movie crier, Valentine's Day, but all kidding aside he's a really good friend to him, exactly as it sounds, first chapter is Firefly-centric, others will not be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Steve and Jerry start (and continue) a tradition.Set during season 9, beginning after the 200th episode. Second chapter is post 9x11; third chapter is Valentine's Day.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts with _Firefly_. Or maybe, to be precise, it starts with Eric, who refers to Steve as a big damn hero, and Steve says he’s claiming that, and Danny says _you can’t claim that, it’s a from a thing_ , though he doesn’t seem to know which thing it’s from.

Or maybe it starts with Steve and Danny selling the restaurant. Which, in turn, apparently started with Steve having a weird dream via which he literally solved a cold case.

Being Steve, he decides that he solves cold cases now.

Which leads to Jerry spending three nights in a row, scouring old files until well after sunset, helping Steve one hard-earned fact at a time. Not that he minds. But he’s pretty sure Steve has slept maybe one night’s worth since the weekend, and he knows for a fact that he hasn’t been eating, and that’s just not sustainable.

So when Steve turns up in his office Thursday afternoon, Jerry puts his foot down.

“You need a break.”

“Hm?” Steve’s perched on the couch, scowling vaguely at a mildewed manila folder.

“You need a break,” Jerry repeats, then, when Steve raises his head to argue, “listen. I spent my entire adult life working the same cold case, okay, so maybe you could trust me on this one? It’s important. It’s worthwhile. But you can’t let it be the only thing you do.”

“We don’t have an active case right now. What else am I supposed to do?”

 _Dick around playing online Poker like Lou_ , Jerry doesn’t say. “Fine. But you leave here at five. Does that sound fair?”

Steve’s face softens before Jerry’s eyes, goes from a somber McGarrett frown to an easy, almost lazy smile. “Can I be honest with you?”

“’course.”

“I think—” Steve flops back against the couch cushions, his pointy knees sticking straight up in the air. “I think I don’t know what to do with all my time, now. Now that we sold the restaurant. I was there three, four, five hours a night, y’know?”

“What did you do at night before the restaurant?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I don’t know.”

“I have a solution.”

“You do?”

Jerry opens a drawer in his desk; he keeps it more organized than most people would assume, and has no trouble finding what he’s looking for. He tosses the _Firefly_ box set, frisbee-like, towards the couch.

Steve catches it effortlessly, then looks up at Jerry with his increasingly familiar _you-know-I’m-your-boss-right?_ expression. “Why’s this here?” he asks—as though he himself has never watched Netflix in this very office.

“I dunno. Probably from when I was sort of living here.”

“Living in my office, you mean.”

“Right.”

“Okay.”

“This is that show that Eric was talking about.”

“The big damn hero show?” Steve’s eyes actually light up a little, which, to be clear, is adorable.

“Yeah. I swear you’ll like it. And it’s not long; you’ll be done in a week with a few episodes a night.”

“Well, apparently I’m free tonight,” Steve laughs.

And then he says something that more or less stops Jerry’s heart:

“You gonna watch it with me?”

So that, to be exact, is how it starts.

*

Jerry can’t remember how exactly the plans get made; only knows the ultimate decision. Steve’s coming over his place around seven. And they’re going to order takeout and veg on the sofa and watch a few hours of _Firefly_.

There’s precedent, for a thing like this. Jerry’s not sure if he and Steve are technically friends or not, but on a few occasions over the last few years they’ve had a Netflix night together. Still, historically it’s been because one of them needed cheering up. This might be—no, this _is_ —the first time they’ve ever just decided to be in each other’s company for an evening, for no real reason. And, seriously? Wow.

Just, wow.

Jerry doesn’t _clean_ clean; he keeps his place pretty tidy to begin with, much like his desk, and besides he doesn’t want to make it look effortful. He just loads the dishwasher, takes the trash out. Then he gets himself showered and in comfy clothes, and hunkers down on the sofa, and waits.

Steve’s on time. Precisely. Jerry answers the door and Steve ambles inside, wearing a sleeveless shirt and carrying a six-pack—and then there’s a moment of utter awkwardness. It shouldn’t be surprising, really. But it is, and it’s also embarrassing, and Jerry wants to die a little as he closes and locks the door, but instead he makes himself smile.

Steve smiles back, instinctively. “What?”

“What, what? I’m just, like, really excited. _Firefly_ is a _thing_ , man. I feel like I’m baptizing you.”

Then Steve laughs, and the awkwardness dissipates. And yeah, it was probably weird to refer to this as a holy ritual, but it was weird in Jerry’s normal weird way, so he thinks it’s acceptable.

In the living room, Steve flops onto the couch. When Jerry immediately cues up the DVD he laughs again, pushes off his slippers, and pulls his bare feet up onto the cushion beside him. “You really are excited.”

“I said I was.”

“Let’s at least figure out food first.”

Jerry does the right thing, apparently, by telling Steve that he doesn’t care what they order. “I pick, I pay,” Steve summarizes, with approval. And then makes Jerry’s heart stop again when he casually amends that next time, they’ll switch.

They decide (well, Steve decides) on Venezuelan. Food ordered, Steve hands Jerry a beer, takes one for himself, then pulls the afghan off the back of the couch and drapes it loosely over his lap. And just—holy crap. Steve McGarrett is literally _making himself cozy_ in Jerry’s apartment, and it’s every bit as wonderful as Jerry’d imagined it to be.

“Well,” Steve prompts, after taking a pull of his beer. “Are we doing this or what?”

So Jerry hits play.

He’s more nervous than he thought he would be, and not only because he’s tucked up one couch cushion away from Steve. Suddenly he’s nervous about _Firefly_ too. Because to be fair, it’s a bit of an acquired taste, and Jerry doesn’t even know if Steve likes sci-fi, as a genre, or if he just has fond memories of watching _Star Trek_ with his dad and maybe he’ll actually hate this. Maybe this was stupid. Jerry glances sideways, hoping for confirmation otherwise, but Steve’s face is pretty much neutral.

It stays neutral for a while. Still it seems that Steve’s paying attention, at any rate, which is something. But he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t engage.

Then, maybe halfway through the episode, Wash is onscreen; Steve gestures vaguely, glances at Jerry, and prompts, “is that you?”

Jerry’s first reaction is relief. His second reaction is to adore the fact that even somebody as cool as Steve McGarrett still has to assign characters when watching a show like _Firefly_.

His third reaction is to laugh.

“Flattering, but nah. I’m definitely Kaylee.”

“The mechanic? You’re the--- the twenty-five year old, five-foot-tall white girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and says no more about it, until the episode ends and Steve cackles and declares that he fucking loves Kaylee and yes, he sees it now.

Everything gets better from there. The food arrives; it turns out that Steve has ordered enough for a small party, and remembered to make Jerry’s vegetarian even though Jerry himself was too flustered to remind him. He even got them coconut milkshakes. So with a take-out container full of rice and beans and fried plantains, Jerry hits play on the next episode, and lets himself relax.

They watch three more episodes that night. Mostly because Jerry wants to get to the one where Mal escorts Kaylee to a fancy ball, and all the guys there sort of fawn over her.

By then, though, it’s late. Steve, yawning, gives Jerry a one-armed bro-hug—and asks when they’re going to watch the rest.

In the morning it feels like a fever dream. Jerry sits on the couch, where Steve sat last night, and tries to remember everything—tries to remember every detail. Because it seems so unlikely to really happen again.

But it does. It fucking does. Next Thursday, leaving work, Steve asks if they’re still on for that night; a few hours after that he’s tucked up on Jerry’s couch and Jerry’s ordering them tacos.

They watch five episodes; Steve’s there ‘til after midnight.

The next Thursday is Thanksgiving, and Jerry’s sure that will be the undoing of their fledgling tradition. But it’s not. They just push it back a day, and on Friday they finish off the series (as well as two plates each of yesterday’s leftovers).

And despite all this, Jerry’s still not sure Steve really liked it. At least, he’s not sure until Steve turns to him with wide eyes and huffs out, “you said they made a movie too, right?”

*

Jerry’s kind of mopey, the following Thursday. It’s only the fourth week in a row of his nights with Steve, but they’ll be out of _Firefly_ after tonight, and that will be that. Waiting for Steve’s knock, Jerry misses it already.

It’s Steve’s turn to get food again, since they had leftovers last week; he orders them sushi, and they curl up on opposite ends of the couch. Then Jerry starts the movie. And he does his best, really, to enjoy every moment, because how stupid would it be to ruin the last bit of something just because it was ending?

He manages, for the most part. Steve’s a legitimate fan by now, adding commentary, asking questions, gasping and cheering, mouth full of California roll. It is honestly beyond adorable.

And so distracting, ultimately, that Jerry sort of forgets all the shit that goes down towards the end of the movie. But then it hits. They both make it through Book’s death with dry eyes, but Jerry starts dreading the very end, knowing what’s coming, knowing that Steve has no clue.

He can’t even look over at him, as the time draws closer.

Then:

“I am a leaf on the wind,” Wash says, onscreen. “Watch how—”

Jerry risks a peek sideways. Steve is starting at the TV with his mouth slightly open; Jerry looks away again.

He doesn’t look back until after the memorial scene. Gorgeous Zoe in her long white dress steps up to her husband’s holo-stone, and Jerry glances over at Steve.

Two _enormous_ tears are rolling down the man’s face. He catches Jerry looking, and scowls. “ _You_ ,” he says, sounding congested, “you did not _warn me_ , Jerry.”

“Yeah. I kinda—”

“Shh,” Steve snaps, waving one hand. “It’s not over.”

They watch the last few minutes in silence, then the credits roll. Jerry shuts it off. Heaves a sigh, and looks over to find more tears, clearly fresh, but tracing the same old paths on Steve’s cheeks.

“Um.”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” Jerry asks, feeling kind of dumb.

Steve sniffles. “Yeah.”

“Just—yeah?”

“Yeah. Stop watching me, man!” Steve laughs, and dries his face. “I cry at movies, sometimes. Some people do that, an’ I’m one of ‘em.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Why are you worrying?” He’s still smiling, still rubbing at his eyes. “God, that was really good. All of it. Man, I haven’t seen something that good in a long time.”

“Told you,” Jerry says, weakly.

“Yeah. At least you told me some of it,” Steve snorts. “Yo, I dunno what we’re gonna watch next week, but it’s gonna have to be really good, to compare.”

And yeah, no point in denying it: Jerry’s heart _soars_.

*

It’s not Steve’s fault, of course; but _next week_ doesn’t happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been playing with one for a while, but I kind of put a rush on it because I decided to do a Valentine's chapter for next week. But there's a second chapter that has to come before the Valentine's chapter, so I had to get the ball rolling if I wanted to be able to actually post the third chapter for Valentine's Day, which is my goal :) not sure if it will be longer than those three chapters, but man, I continue to love these two just so damn much.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s January—literally next year—by the time Jerry sees Steve again. He shows up at the office one day, with chapped lips and slightly overgrown hair, and a look on his face that says that _hell and back_ would be a vacation compared to what he’s been through.

Jerry hugs him, then avoids him.

Unfortunately nobody else knows what to do either. Even Danny’s at an absolute loss. Jerry finds him one morning, boneless on the couch in Steve’s office, on the verge of hopeless, frustrated tears.

Jerry has no advice, but he sits with him a while. If neither of them can help Steve right now, at least they can sort of help each other through that helplessness.

The thing is, Steve’s not even acting like he needs help. On the surface he’s functioning perfectly, acting perfectly sane—a flawless android with a bomb at the center, the clock ticking lower every second. He doesn’t act angry. He doesn’t act sad, or even more reckless than usual—it’s none of that.

It’s just—nothing.

A blankness.

Junior says it’s no better at home; that all Steve does is run and swim, and occasionally sit with Eddie. Danny begs Steve to stay with him, but Steve refuses. Nobody, it seems, can get the man to assent to anything but work or exercise.

So the knock on Jerry’s door, Thursday night, surprises Jerry to down to his bones.

He hurries out to find Steve standing on his porch, looking somehow worse than ever; he barely grunts in greeting as he thrusts a six-pack of Longboards against Jerry’s chest. Then he stalks to the living room, stations himself on the couch. Jerry follows, tripping a little as his feet outpace his brain.

“Preference?” he gets out, opening the little cabinet where he keeps his DVDs. Steve shakes his head. Then he crosses his arms and leans back slowly, and Jerry gets the heartbreaking impression that it’s a real effort for him to expose his belly like that.

Jerry puts on _The Martian_. Because Matt Damon is awesome and the plot is awesome, and he sees a lot of Steve—well, Steve how he usually is—in the good-humored, almost preternaturally resourceful Mark Watney.

Steve of this moment is unimpressed. The entire movie, all two and a half hours, Jerry wonders if Steve’s just humoring him—or worse, just going through the motions. He offers no commentary. Doesn’t react to the events on the screen, and even when it’s over, stays silent, almost passive.

Then he sighs. Doesn’t look at Jerry as he speaks.

“I have time for another,” he says. “If you do.”

It’s nearly eleven.

“I’ve got time for one more,” Jerry replies, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Steve lets his eyes close, briefly, and pulls in a long, slow breath before opening them again.

So Jerry puts another movie on. Passes Steve a blanket, without comment, and hunkers down on his side of the couch.

*

Jerry’s not there for the breaking point. And no, he doesn’t begrudge Danny that; there might be a petty part of him that wants to, but the rest of him is just satisfied that it’s finally happened. Danny forced Steve to come over and stay the weekend with him and the kids. And the combined efforts of the three Williamses apparently proved enough to push Steve past stage 0 of the long, long process of grieving.

Which comes with its own set of struggles, naturally. Steve and Danny both take Monday off; this surprises no one, since Danny has sent sporadic updates via text over the weekend. But Tuesday they catch a case. Steve rushes in, of course, and spends the rest of the day and well into Wednesday doing what needs to be done.

When it ends, Wednesday evening, there’s not much left of him. Jerry catches Steve and Danny arguing about whether or not Steve’s going to stay home and rest tomorrow—and though Steve seems to be winning at the time, the next morning Danny announces that Steve’s taking another personal day after all.

So Jerry’s not exactly surprised when Steve shows up for movie night—but neither is he exactly prepared. He moves on instinct. Gets his arms around Steve the moment the guy steps over the threshold and stands, keeping him close, thinking how generally Steve McGarrett is a guy who hugs you and not one who just lets you hug him, but right now he’s barely raising his arms whatsoever. There’s just one hand up, in fact, pressed weakly to the base of Jerry’s spine.

“Hey,” Jerry says, still feeling kind of witless.

“Hey,” Steve replies. The whisper of his voice is further muted by Jerry’s shoulder; then he pulls away, kind of clumsily. “How were things today?”

“Things were fine. Hey, it’s good you’re giving yourself a little time. Honestly.”

Steve doesn’t reply to this. He’s already gone through to the living room and as Jerry watches, he deposits himself on Jerry’s couch and pulls the blanket over his legs.

“What should we order?” Jerry asks. He finds himself swinging his hands as though this could wipe away the tension—tension much different from last week’s, but still absolutely palpable.

Steve rolls his head in Jerry’s direction, though he doesn’t raise his face. “’m not really hungry.”

“Comfort food it is, then. Could do subs, could do pizza—”

This earns him a tired smile. “Jerry, I’m honestly not hungry.”

“Okay.” So that’s a no on the take-out, but Jerry’s pretty sure they’ll both feel a lot better if he gets Steve to eat _something_. “Um, I could make PB&Js?”

Steve consents to this, which Jerry’s not totally surprised about; no matter who you are, sometimes you need a white-bread, grape-jelly, creamy-peanut-butter sandwich. In the kitchen, Jerry makes four, slices them into triangles; then takes them back to the couch. Steve flashes another slightly miserable smile, picks up a triangle, and dutifully takes a small bite of it.

“Any thoughts on what we watch?”

“Um, yeah.” Steve reaches under the blanket and pulls a DVD, presumably from a pocket of his cargo pants. “Kind of in the mood for this.” He hands it over.

It’s a Clint Eastwood flick, _Gran Torino_ ; not something Jerry would have necessarily selected but not something he’s opposed to. Well, not wildly opposed to. Sort of indifferent, really, but if Steve wants to watch it, that’s what they’re watching.

Jerry puts it in, starts it, and settles back on his end of the couch.

The basic plot seems to be that an old, angry white guy sort of befriends the Asian teenager who tries to steal his car. Jerry doesn’t love it. For many and varied reasons, honestly, but Steve’s clearly invested in it, so Jerry says nothing. Just curls up and eats some sandwiches. Wonders why the fuck Steve chose this movie and if maybe it has something to do with Nahele and Steve’s Marquis, but mostly he just waits for it to be over.

There’s maybe ten minutes left when it happens. And Clint Eastwood’s character is left bleeding out, gasping his final breaths on the sidewalk, and Jerry looks over and finds Steve with his head in one hand, t-shirt collar pulled up over his face.

He’s silent, but clearly crying hard. There’s a moment of whiplash in which Jerry honestly freezes; then his brain kicks back in, and his heart breaks. He mutes the final scenes. Then he takes the box of tissues from the end table and moves to the center cushion, resettling at Steve’s side, resting a hand on Steve’s back.

Steve shudders at the touch, but then leans in, just a bit. He doesn’t uncover his face and Jerry doesn’t pull him any closer; they just sit, in the stillness, Steve weeping bitterly, Jerry waiting it out.

The credits are over, menu looping, by the time his tears run out. Steve lets the t-shirt fall away from his face and blinks blearily out at the world. He looks—well. Like he’s been crying for half an hour. His skin seems almost translucent, the blood beneath it very red; his eyes and nose are slicked and swollen.

“Okay,” he whispers, before Jerry can say anything. “Okay. Okay.”

He’s breathing in stiff, unnatural rhythm: sharp inhale, sharp exhale, sharp inhale, sharp exhale. Long pause, then repeat. His eyes are open, but they haven’t left the floor. So Jerry slides a little closer, and rubs circles across his back.

Time passes. Eventually Steve seems to trust his lungs to function on their own again; he lets his head fall forward, and starts breathing more easily, though a bit unsteadily.

“I’m okay,” he huffs, after a minute of this. “I’m okay. Holy crap. Thanks,” he adds, as Jerry offers him the tissue box. He puts it on his knees, pulls out three tissues. Jerry rubs his back again as he blows his nose until all three are soggy and crumpled, forming a little pile in the dip between his legs.

This done, though, he seems a bit more himself. Jerry takes his arm back, nudges their sides together instead. “You with me?”

Steve has snagged another tissue, and is wiping it carefully under his nose. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Cool. Okay. Then, I gotta ask the obvious, man: did you know that movie was about, like, a father-figure-type sacrifice thing?”

Steve laughs, though it comes out more of a cough. “Yeah. I knew.”

“Just wondering.”

“I mean, I knew there was gonna be some waterworks. But I didn’t figure I’d have an actual breakdown in your living room.”

“It happens, man.”

“That movie’s always reminded me of Joe,” Steve admits, finally sitting back against the couch. “I mean, it always has. So I thought—I dunno, I thought I’d watch it—I knew it’d get me goin’. But I thought, maybe, I’d feel better after?”

“Do you?”

The answer’s obvious; still Steve tries to reply. He licks his lips, and works his mouth a few times, before folding forward again, hiding his face in his hands.

There’s another wave of tears, another round of tissues. When it’s done, Steve reaches over and pats Jerry’s knee.

“Why’s this movie remind you of Joe?” Jerry asks, quietly. “Just ‘cause of Clint Eastwood, or—?”

This gets another soft laugh. “No, no, I, uh— it’s a whole story, okay?”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

Steve glances up at Jerry, eyes bloodshot, lips quirked in a tiny smile. “This one time, I—stole a car?”

“You stole a car.”

“In my early days at the ANA. I—you know. I was miserable, man. Homesick as hell. I thought my mom was dead, I thought my dad had abandoned me. I missed my island.”

“So you thought—you’d drive—to Oahu?”

Steve pulls a face. “I thought I’d drive to the _airport_. Dunno what I thought would happen once I got there. Still don’t know, ‘cause I didn’t get all the way there.”

“How does Joe play into this?”

“Grand theft auto,” Steve sighs, shaking his head a little. “It’s not an automatic felony in California, but you can bet your ass it woulda been enough to get me kicked out of the academy. Joe made it—you know. He made it go away.”

“Oh. Nice.”

“I don’t think he ever intended to—be to me, what he was to me. At least not at first. But I needed—I needed people to look after me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I did. And the people who stepped up the most were Joe, and my Aunt Deb.”

 _And now they’re both gone_ , Steve doesn’t say, but his face crumples all the same.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how old you are. It literally doesn’t. You never stop needing somebody older, somebody to look after you, and the sudden realization slams into Jerry that Steve doesn’t really have that anymore. Peers who care for him, sure. But nobody like a mom or dad, or aunt or uncle, or commander, or anything—in every relationship he’s in, Steve himself is the caretaker.

The thought of this nearly swallows Jerry whole. Instead of succumbing to it, he reaches out and hugs Steve against his chest, as tightly as he can.

Steve laughs, puts his head on Jerry’s shoulder. A short time passes, then Jerry feels the tremble and the dampness of Steve beginning to cry once more.

Jerry rubs his neck, sways him a little. Waits for the tears to end, though before they have, Steve pulls away.

“What’s up?”

“’adda blow m’nose ‘gain,” Steve mumbles, working his way through a few more tissues.

“You want some water, or something?”

“Nah.”

“Do you wanna—like. Tell me more? About Joe?”

Steve blinks up at him, looking almost baffled by the proposal; then he smiles.

What comes next is no less than a dozen stories. Between the talking, and the fresh bouts of crying, Steve all but loses his voice eventually—and still he keeps going. The pile of tissues in his lap grows to a mountain.

Jerry mops his own tears now and again, aware that he’s crying too but not sparing it much thought. Steve doesn’t seem to notice, anyway. Jerry gets the feeling that he’s been playing all this through in his head, nonstop, and there’s palpable relief as he lets it all out.

At one point, a story ends; Jerry waits for the next to begin, but after a minute or two, it still hasn’t. He’s had his arm around Steve’s back for a while now. So he feels the heavy, shaky sigh that rumbles up from Steve’s chest, making his whole body shudder. Jerry jostles him lightly.

“How you doin’?”

Steve nods, then smiles at Jerry, still nodding a little. “Okay. Wrung out.”

“Yeah. I feel like that’s normal.”

A little more nodding, then Steve wipes the tears from his cheeks; none come to replace them.

“You want some water now?”

“No. Yeah. Please?” Steve laughs; it sounds congested and beyond exhausted, but it sounds real. Jerry pats his shoulder, and goes and gets some.

He comes back to the living room to find Steve stuffing all the used tissues back inside the box; he catches Jerry’s eyes and smiles, a little awkwardly. “Just used the last one,” he rasps. “I owe you a dollar fifty.”

“You sound like shit,” Jerry tells him; taking the empty/full-again tissue box and setting it aside. Then he hands over the glass. Steve perches on the edge of the couch, drinking the water with an expression of near-reverence.

When he’s finished he lets Jerry take the glass. Then he pulls his knees to his chest and curls, upright, against the swell of the couch’s back cushion. The whole world seems to have settled at last. Jerry comes back to himself, and his surroundings; first he turns off the TV, which has been playing the DVD menu on a muted loop for—how long now? Jerry checks the time, and nearly startles. It’s past ten, and they started the movie around sixish; it ended more than two hours ago.

Jerry settles on the other end of the couch. Steve smiles up at him, blearily; he’s still sniffling now and then, but he seems worlds calmer. The blankets back, wrapped around his shoulders this time.

“Hey,” Jerry says, quietly.

“Hey.” For a moment, Steve just looks at him, eyes half-shut from crying and fatigue. Then he laughs. “I, uh. For the record, I did not mean to spill my guts in your living room any more than I meant to have a breakdown here.”

“Okay.” Jerry leans his head back a little. “I’m glad you did, though. To be honest.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “’m kinda glad too.”

“You should take tomorrow off,” Jerry says, looking away to give Steve just a little bit of privacy. “You were tired already. You gotta be exhausted now.”

“Yeah. I might, actually.”

“You want me to drive you home?”

“Mm. I, uh—I don’t think I could sleep yet,” Steve admits, resting his head against the couch.

“Yeah. Understandable.” Jerry pauses, taking him in. “We could watch another?”

“Can we?”

“Sure. Preference?”

“Something with lots of explosions,” Steve replies, letting his eyes close. “And no feelings. No fucking feelings, Jer.”

“Got it.”

Steve smiles. Eyes still shut, he hugs the blanket a little bit tighter around his waist, and lets his knees unbend a little, until his legs take up a second cushion.

Jerry slaps something new on, hardly noting what he’s put. Then he returns to his position on the couch and glances up to find Steve dozing quietly, despite what he’d literally just said about not being able to sleep.

Good. Jerry lowers the volume—doesn’t mute it, because he’s pretty sure Steve likes a little noise to sleep by—and settles in. Could close his eyes too, but doesn’t.

He’ll watch over Steve; he’ll do it as long as he needs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have a lot of feelings about Steve being able to let go around Jerry. Because nobody but Danny will ever be his BFF, but Danny's another alpha male, and no matter how comfortable they are around each other, there's still a bit of posturing. I love the idea that Jerry is just so soft and sincere that Steve can put it all down when he's with him. I dunno, that's how I'd like to see their relationship, at any rate :) 
> 
> Next chapter will be Valentine's Day... hoping to post tomorrow but knowing in my heart of hearts that it probably won't be ready in time. Ugh.


	3. Chapter 3

So, they’re friends now. In retrospect, they probably were already, but Jerry’s whole inadequacy complex had prevented him from using the word. But at this point there’s no sense in denying it. If a guy cries his way through an entire box of tissues on your couch on a random Thursday night then you are, in fact, friends.

Steve’s not hard up for friends. And to be clear, Jerry honestly isn’t either; but a lot of his CT friends are online only and most of his old Hina friends have spouses and families now, so, he doesn’t mind having somebody else to spend time with. And Steve— jeez, Steve wouldn’t mind another friend if he already had a thousand. He just really, really loves company, is the thing, and although Jerry initially worried he’d get bored of their sci-fi and take-out routine, he doesn’t seem to. Every Thursday he arrives around 6, in comfy clothes, with a six-pack of beer. Every Thursday they tuck up in their respective places on the couch and watch a movie (or two) while they drink the beer and eat tacos or poké or pizza.

Thursdays have become Jerry’s favorite day of the week.

He’s not naive; he knows this won’t last forever. They’ll have a case that runs late, or Steve will have somewhere else to be, or one week they’ll be too tired, and from there it will just— peter out. But he’ll enjoy it until it lasts.

A little while into February, though, Jerry catches sight of a calendar, and feels his heart sink. They’ll be skipping soon, after all: February 14 is a Thursday this year.

They could postpone, have movie Thursday on Friday, like they did the week of Thanksgiving. But if Jerry’s being honest, that’s not really what sets him sulking. Because in the end, being Steve’s friend is awesome, but Jerry wants to be more than that— and he knows full well that he never will be.

Steve’s single. Jerry knows this because Danny likes to chastise Steve for it, but it’s not like that matters. He’s _Steve_. He’s kind and gorgeous and brilliant, and literally a Navy SEAL, and an animal lover and a craft beer enthusiast, and there’s just no universe in which he doesn’t have at least three or four women that he could call upon just to spend the night with.

There’s no universe in which Steve McGarrett spends Valentine’s Day evening on Jerry’s couch.

Jerry tries actively not to let himself stew about it too much; he doesn’t even bring it up, to ensure that he can’t accidentally be passive aggressive (or super pathetic) about it. He aches, but he lets it slip away. Buys himself some wine and a huge box of chocolates and makes plans to spend this February 14 like he’s spent every other one, as far back as he can remember.

Then Thursday, at lunchtime, Steve pokes his head in Jerry’s door. The exchange the customary _hey_ ’s, then Steve leans his hip against the doorframe. “So are we, uh, on for tonight?”

“Huh?”

“It’s Thursday.”

“Oh! Yeah. I mean—you don’t have a date? I kinda figured you would.”

“Ha!” Steve says—not laughing, actually speaking. “Ha ha. No, I don’t have a date, Jerry. Do you?”

“ _Ha_.”

“So I’ll see you like usual?”

“You really don’t have a date?”

Steve’s expression sours a bit. “Not for nothin’, man, but I’ve been gettin’ this bad enough from Danny.”

“Right. Sorry. That wasn’t—I don’t think that’s a bad thing. At all. I just—wanted to make sure—”

“What?”

“That you weren’t just saying that ‘cause you felt bad for me? ‘cause if you have somewhere else to be—seriously, I’m not offended.”

Steve sighs, tips his head against the door frame. “Jerry, I literally don’t have somewhere else to be. I’m either gonna spend tonight with you or I’m gonna spend it with Eddie. And, don’t tell him I said this, but you’re better conversation.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head.” Steve grins. “I’ll see you tonight. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Steve replies, and leaves.

*

There’s no point in denying it: Jerry’s got butterflies. For no good reason, mind, because this isn’t a date; it isn’t even a Valentine’s movie night. Just a movie night happening on Valentine’s Day.

But it’s not much use, telling his insides that; the buzzy, achy energy only increases as the day goes on and his un-Valentine’s plans with Steve get closer. Because no, it’s not a date, but it’s still _plans_. He’s got plans on February 14 that don’t involve eating too much or scrolling through message boards until midnight mercifully passes.

He’s got plans _with Steve_.

After work Jerry does his usual thing: showers and gets into pajama bottoms and a clean t-shirt. Then he wanders, tidying a bit, as he waits for the familiar knock.

It comes as usual, a few minutes after 6, and Jerry thinks about waiting half a minute before deciding that that’s stupid. He opens the door. Steve comes in, flashing a smile, then heads right for his spot on the couch and tucks himself up with a languid groan.

Jerry snorts as he locks back up and settles in his own spot. “You good?”

“I’m good. I like your couch.”

“Hey, did Eddie take offense? That you came over here?”

Steve cracks one eye open; it crinkles as he smiles. “The thing about dogs is that they actually don’t understand calendars.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Man, I took the best picture of him yesterday,” Steve continues, not reacting to the sarcasm. He sits up, scrolling through his phone, and finally leans over so Jerry can see. “Look. Not for nothing, Jer, but that’s a good picture.”

In truth it’s a pretty average picture of Eddie splayed out in the sand, but Jerry remarks appropriately because Steve’s excited. Again, how is this guy not on a date right now?

“Okay,” Steve says, curling back up. “You mind pizza? I’m in the mood for it.”

“Pizza works. Your turn to choose anyway.”

Steve throws a shaka, and puts the call through. The line connects, and he orders a large veggie pizza; then he pulls a face, sort of smiling and frowning at the same time. “No? Why are you asking?” Then his eyes go wide, and he laughs. “Oh. Hey, Jerry,” he chuffs, tilting the phone away from his mouth, “do we want a heart-shaped pizza?”

Never in his life has Jerry been less prepared for a question.

“Yeah,” Steve says, into the phone, when apparently Jerry takes too long to answer. “Yeah, that’s fine. Okay. Okay, thanks.”

“We’re getting heart-shaped pizza.”

“Doing our part to support the holiday. Which means we are excused from watching anything with romantic plotlines.”

“Yo, I wasn’t gonna suggest it anyway,” Jerry replies.

They end up foregoing movies in favor of their old standby, Star Trek; which means that technically they’ll probably encounter at least one romantic plotline, but with aliens involved, so it’s okay. Jerry gets so into it that he forgets about the pizza.

Then it arrives, and Steve opens the box—and cackles loudly, then displays it to Jerry.

It is, in fact, heart-shaped. Not only that the but veggie toppings are arranged in concentric hearts of their own: a green pepper heart, then an onion heart, a red pepper heart, and a broccoli heart. And in the center a tiny heart of black olives.

Without much other recourse (beyond dramatically fleeing), Jerry folds sideways and buries his face in a throw pillow.

Steve cackles again. Then, after a moment of this, goes abruptly quiet. “Jerry?” he asks, tentatively, and Jerry steels himself and raises his head and grunts, “what?”

“Okay.” Steve’s face smoothes over instantly. “For a second I thought you were, like. Actually upset.”

“About the pizza being heart-shaped?”

“No, about— uh. Not having a date tonight.”

“Oh.” He sits all the way up now. “I mean, I guess. But it is what it is, man.”

“Yeah. That’s my attitude, too. I mean, look at it this way: if we had dates tonight we’d be in, like, button-ups, paying way too much for not enough food in some crowded restaurant. Right?”

Jerry can’t help himself. “Honestly, if I had a date tonight, I’d be doing exactly this. I’d just—light some candles or something.”

“That sounds awesome.” Steve rubs his forehead. “But I’ve gotten a lot of crap in the past for not being romantic enough, so. Probably not the best judge.”

Or maybe just a judge better suited to a different competition, Jerry doesn’t say. At this point he’s actively trying not to be miserable.

They’re two episodes in, and the pizza’s nearly done, when Jerry realizing that Steve’s maybe not doing so well either. He quarrels with himself about the best way to bring it up before finally just asking, “are you okay?” 

Steve glances up, flashing a smile. “Yeah. Yeah.” Then he sighs. “I think— I’m a little more mopey than I thought I’d be.” 

“‘bout the no date thing?” 

“Yeah. I mean, not specifically because of the holiday or anything, just—” 

“‘cause you’re a single Pringle?” 

Steve snorts, and gets himself another beer. “Yeah. That.” 

Jerry thinks he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. At first. The episode ends and Jerry pauses it to go use the bathroom; when he comes back, Steve’s got the look on again. Jerry plops himself down but doesn’t start the next episode. He just sits quietly for a moment; then Steve sighs, and tilts his face towards Jerry. 

“Can I be honest?”

“Hope so.”

Steve mugs at him, and Jerry realizes for the first time that the guy’s working on his fourth beer. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah.” Jerry lets his face soften a bit. “Of course, man.”

Steve sighs, maybe the longest, slowest sigh Jerry’s ever heard from him. “I think the thing is— the thing is. Man.” He laughs, and shakes his head. “The thing is that every time I run back into Catherine, I think to myself, this is gonna be the time. This is gonna be the time that we realize we’re the only two people on the planet who could— who could ever put up with each other, and—”

He pauses. Tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself, while Jerry’s heart breaks for three or four different reasons. 

“Last time— the last few times I saw her, I was with Lynn. And I wouldn’t’ve done that to her. To Lynn. She’s a good kid, seriously. But this last time, goin’ after Greer— I’m not with anybody. She’s not with anybody. We spent, like, weeks together. So I guess, if it was ever gonna happen, it would’ve happened then.”

There’s something stuck in Jerry’s throat, and he coughs a little before speaking. “I don’t think there’s only one person for everybody. Honestly. I don’t think it works like that.”

“I mean, maybe not for some people. But for me? I’m not— I’m not, uh— I dunno. I don’t think there’s a lot of people I’d work out with. I mean— some people don’t end up with anyone.”

Jerry’s beyond thankful that he only had the one beer, because otherwise he’d very possibly be crying a little right now. “I know.” 

“And part of me, y’know, thinks that’s gonna be me. And that’s fine. But another part of me—”

Steve pauses, looking startled. Jerry has to admit, he didn’t expect this either.

“I think about the future,” Steve sighs, “and I can’t even imagine a world where I don’t have kids, someday. Don’t get married, someday. But— man, I’m almost forty-three. And I— my— my lifespan— my life expectancy. Um. It’s not eighty, y’know? Probably not even seventy. If I wanted to have kids, and have time to watch them grow up— man, I needed to have them, like, yesterday.” 

The sentence ends gruffly; Steve blinks a few times.“You okay?” Steve’s clearly not, so Jerry doesn’t really mean _are you okay_ , but something more along the lines of, _do you want (or possibly need) to talk (or possibly cry)_ about this?

“I’m good,” Steve answers, laughing at himself a little. “I’m good. Man, was this couch secondhand from a therapist or something? I feel like half the times I sit here I end up—” He waves vaguely at his face. 

Jerry snorts; he’s still not too far off from crying, himself. “Um. You wanna go, like. Turbo self-pity?”

“Turbo self-pity?”

“I mean, I’ve got wine. And I’ve got chocolate I was gonna eat once all nutritionally inclined people had left the apartment.”

Steve’s face brightens a little. “Bro, there’s chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

“Valentine’s chocolate?”

“Of course.”

Steve gestures impatiently, as if to say, _why isn’t this confection in front of me right now_?

Dutifully Jerry goes to the kitchen, retrieves a giant bottle of Moscato from the fridge and an even gianter box of chocolates from the pantry. He brings these, and two wine glasses, back to the couch.

Steve grins, sitting up a little straighter. He tears the red cellophane from the heart-shaped box as Jerry pours the wine. “Is there one that’s off-limits?”

“Huh?”

Steve glances up. “When you share chocolate with someone I feel like you always check if there’s one they really like. And then it’s off limits.”

“Right.” Jerry doesn’t mention that this is probably going to be the first box of chocolates that he’s _shared_ since he and his sister lived under the same roof. “Um, not really. I like ‘em all.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have one?”

“The dark chocolate coconut one,” Steve replies, with utter gravity.

Jerry laughs. “Okay. Noted.” He passes Steve one of the glasses of wine, surprised but honestly charmed when Steve clinks it against Jerry’s own before settling back down.

Netflix is still on pause; nobody resumes it. For a few minutes they just sit in each other’s company, Steve downing a lot of wine and a little chocolate, Jerry downing a lot of chocolate and a little wine.

It’s Steve who breaks the silence. When he does so, Jerry looks up to find that he’s fully enrobed himself in the blanket now. “Do you think you’ll end up with somebody? Y’know. In the end?”

Jerry swills the wine in his glass before replying, though the answer takes next to no thought. 

“Not really.”

“That kind of surprises me.”

Jerry snorts. “It surprises me that it surprises you. Dude, I— if my mom hadn’t wanted to move, I would literally still be living in her basement.”

“Would you really though?” Steve poses, head tilting a little. “I don’t think you would be.”

“In either case. I’m still not what people in the biz call a _catch_.”

Steve actually seems to think about that for a moment. “I don’t think you’re everybody’s type,” he replies, at length. “But I don’t think you’re nobody’s type.”

“Well, when you meet somebody whose type I am—send ‘em my way, okay?”

“You’ve got time.”

“Dude, I’m older than you. I’m gonna be _fifty_ pretty soon.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I think I usually forget that. You don’t look it. Or act it.”

“Thanks. It’s the chubby cheeks.”

Steve ignores that. “But man, you could live to eighty, you know? You could have a good lotta time left.”

“Yeah, not so sure about that.” Jerry smiles, though embarrassment stabs him like a dagger. “If you weren’t here I was gonna eat this whole thing myself. My heart’ll give out when I’m sixty. Just like my old man’s did.”

“You could change that.”

Jerry snorts. “Well, you could— get lucky? And not get cancer?”

“Better analogy would’ve been that I could take better care of my loaner liver by not drinking this,” Steve says, raising his glass.

“Yeah.” Jerry sighs.

He only pauses a moment, but the moment is its own little lifetime. “I’m totally eating this chocolate, though,” he declares, after.

That earns him another smile. “Well I’m definitely drinking this wine. Can you turn it back on? We’re making me sad.”

Another episode passes without much conversation. By the end of it, Steve’s eyes are drooping, and Jerry does nothing to prevent him from curling up against the back of the couch and quietly falling asleep. Jerry puts the wine and chocolate aside and lets himself stare.

There’s so much to process he doesn’t even know where to start: Steve’s lonely, Steve’s still in love with Catherine, Steve thinks there’s nobody else out there for him. Thinks there’s somebody out there for Jerry— though it’s clearly somebody else.

Steve thinks pizza by candlelight for Valentine’s Day sounds _awesome_. Steve has a favorite chocolate in the box and he is legitimately protective of it.

Steve wants kids.

Steve doesn’t really think he’ll ever have them.

Steve honestly believes that in the end he’ll be alone; that he wouldn’t fit right with anyone. Seems very sure of this, though Jerry’s sitting two couch cushions away from him.

And maybe it’s the wine, or maybe Jerry’s just that pitiful; whatever the reason, a couple tears roll heavily down his cheeks. He sniffs the others back. Pulls his feet up onto the couch and rests sideways against the back cushion, mirroring Steve.

He wakes to the sound of the TV shutting off. Blinks his eyes open to find Steve gathering empty bottles and glasses, making sure they don’t clink as he takes them into the kitchen. He returns, tidies the rest of it too. Then, noticing Jerry awake, he perches on the couch, an inch away from Jerry’s toes.

“Hey.” It’s a whisper, though they’re the only ones there, and both awake now. “We fell asleep. It’s almost one thirty.”

Jerry nods, still slightly too muddled to produce his own words, though he understands Steve’s just fine.

Steve smiles, rubs at Jerry’s leg. “I’m gonna head out, okay? Go back to sleep.”

“Y’kay t’— mm.” Jerry clears his throat. “You okay t’drive?”

This gets a soft laugh. “Got a little tipsy there, didn’t I? Yeah, I’m fine. I slept it off. Hey, don’t get up; I’ll lock the door when I leave.”

Jerry shakes his head, rubs his eyes; struggles upright and swings his legs down, until he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve. Puts his head in his hands. And feels himself falling instantly back to sleep.

So he almost thinks it’s a dream, the arms that surround him. But no; he opens his eyes to Steve hugging him warmly, head heavy on Jerry’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, patting Jerry’s back. “I know I got a little gloomy on you, buddy. But that was actually a really nice Valentine’s Day. I mean it. _Mahalo_.”

More asleep than awake again, Jerry nuzzles his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs.

Steve squeezes one last time, then lets him go. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jerry,” he replies; and then he’s gone.

And Jerry crawls to the other side of the couch and curls up in the warmth Steve left behind; and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely got a little sadder than intended there, but I refuse to apologize. Because loving someone who doesn't love you back _is_ sad. And maybe even more than usual today.
> 
> That being said, I do hope you enjoyed. I know there aren't a whole lot of people reading this story, which is totally to be expected given the pairing; so to you who are reading, I say, I genuinely hope you had/have a lovely Valentine's :)


End file.
